


The Chosen One

by BelfastDocks



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2018-09-05
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:09:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15899679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BelfastDocks/pseuds/BelfastDocks
Summary: It's tough being a first year at Hogwarts, especially if your brother is James Sirius Potter. But all of that changes when Albus becomes...the chosen one. Fluff alert.





	The Chosen One

**Author's Note:**

> I originally published this piece on a Harry Potter fanfiction site called Checkmated years ago. I transferred it to FFnet to maintain it after Checkmated disappeared, and now I'm transferring it to AO3, which is what I should have done in the first place.
> 
> Warning: I wrote this piece BEFORE "Cursed Child" was released, and I had my own ideas, like everyone else, about Albus's sorting at Hogwarts. Just note that this story is not complainant with "Cursed Child" in any way, shape or form.
> 
> ~BD

****

## The Chosen One

****

_It wasn't fair._

Albus Severus Potter scuffed the toe of his boot into the thick snow beneath his feet, sending a spray of sparkling powder up in front of him.

Truthfully, he didn't care how pretty the snow was today. All he really wanted to do was ruin the perfect, pristine view. To make his surroundings look as sulky and bad and wretched as he felt.

_It just wasn't fair._

It was James's fault. It was always James's fault, it seemed. Especially the past three and a half months. His older brother, _James Sirius Potter_ , was extremely popular - particularly for a second year student. He told jokes before classes and pulled pranks after them, and even the sixth and seventh years laughed hysterically when he and Fred put on some stupid comedy act in the Gryffindor common room. James was always the center of attention, always in the thick of a party, always grinning sloppily and, lately, acting like a right bloody _arse_.

Albus's shoulders slumped as he moodily directed his footsteps _away_ from Hagrid's cabin. He didn't want to see the cheerful gamekeeper right now; Hagrid would inevitably guess what was wrong (he always could, somehow), and would try to cheer Albus up. And Albus didn't _want_ to cheer up. He wanted to stomp around for a while and just be sullen.

Because unfortunately, today had been an accumulation of things - and all before breakfast! For a Saturday morning, it must have been some sort of obscene record. First, on his way down the marble stairs, James had tried to trip him up. On _purpose_. Albus had just barely caught himself; Rose had furiously told James he could have hurt his little brother, while some of the Slytherins, who had been coming up from the dungeons, had sniggered as Albus clung to the banister, trying to right his balance.

And James? James had merely laughed, as he _always_ did, and told his brother he'd better pay more attention. Then the great bloody prat had sauntered into the Great Hall and proceeded to stuff himself on kippers. Albus had flopped down as far from his brother as he could get at the Gryffindor table, and picked at his toast while ignoring Rose's attempts to persuade him to eat some porridge instead.

Then, when the post came, he wasn't at all surprised to see James's handsome hawk owl swoop down with a package from home. Albus didn't have his own owl - he hadn't found one he liked in Diagon Alley the previous August, and he had ended up going to school without any sort of pet. As a result, James had teased him mercilessly about it ever since.

_What's the matter, no animal wants you? Albus went into the Magical Menagerie, and all the animals fled to the back room!_

It had been one of his favorite jokes during the first couple of months, and Rose had seen fit to write to her Aunt Ginny about this _particular_ teasing, which had at least resulted in James receiving a dreadful howler - worse than usual, actually. But while Albus felt the howler was justified, most of the other students merely thought it was hysterical. It was just like James Potter to receive a howler, they laughed. He usually got one once a month for something or other. That was nothing out of the ordinary.

However, today, when James opened his package at the breakfast table, it had contained quite a stash of sweets from home. Albus's stomach had rumbled at the very thought of his mother's delicious oatmeal cookies, cream pies, and treacle fudge. The note had instructed James to share with his brother (it always did), and technically, James _did_ share - but he'd plopped Albus's cookies down so hard that they broke into pieces. James had said he was sorry, and insisted that he hadn't meant to break them. And, maybe he hadn't. But he didn't offer his own cookies in exchange, and he had quickly hurried off with his friends to fly (only after informing Albus _yet again_ that first years weren't allowed their own broomsticks).

Now, Albus dejectedly took a broken cookie from his cloak pocket and nibbled on it as he stomped through the thick snow towards the edge of the Forbidden Forest, feeling quite rebellious and not caring if he got in trouble for venturing too close to the trees. He would be glad when the week was out, and they would be returning home for Christmas then. When they got home, he could play Exploding Snap with his father, or help his mother with the baking in the kitchen, and ask for Kreacher's help wrapping the Christmas gifts he'd purchased by mail order. He could avoid James by hiding in his own room, if he had to. And perhaps if he were lucky, he could ask his father to take him back to Diagon Alley one afternoon to see if he could find an owl he liked. He was tired of his parents sending things via James's owl, or else using the family owl. It wasn't _his_ , after all. He wanted his _own_ pet.

It was times like these that he hated James for being the oldest, and for being so popular and such a prat. Sometimes it seemed as though James had everything, and Albus had nothing. He knew this wasn't the case - he knew his parents loved him dearly - but sometimes, just _sometimes_ , it felt exactly the opposite.

He ducked beneath the shelter of the bare trees, moving deep enough into the fringe so that the castle disappeared from view. It was quiet here, and he wished he could venture in further. But there were, in fact, very dangerous creatures in the forest, and he would be wiser to stay away from the place. Even his father had warned him not to go into the forest without Hagrid.

The thought that he was disobeying his father made him feel sick again, and he kicked another patch of snow, this one icier than the snow on the castle lawns. Some of the pieces hit the tree in front of him with dull _thunks_ ; the sound was satisfying. He finished the broken oatmeal cookie and turned to leave, not wishing to get into further trouble.

But that was when he heard a soft cooing noise.

Startled, Albus paused to listen. He heard it again, and this time he slowly followed the sound, behind another tree. To his surprise, a tiny, ugly, wrinkled bird sat at the base, just out of the ring of snow.

For a few seconds, Albus warily kept his distance as he stared at it. He didn't know what it was, or why it was here alone. Was its mother around? Would she be protective if a human tried to touch her young? Or was it all alone?

The baby bird cooed again; a rasping, grating, horrible sort of sound, and despite the fact that it was indeed quite ugly and misshapen, Albus felt intensely sorry for it. Perhaps it was sick, and needed care. He stepped forward cautiously, and the bird did not fly away. In fact, if anything, it seemed to lean _closer_. Barely breathing, he tentatively knelt and stretched out a hand. The little bird immediately nudged its wrinkled head against Albus's knuckles, and slowly, he scooped his fingers beneath it and lifted it to cuddle it against his chest.

And, to his shock, it was burning hot, despite the intense December cold! He looked around a few more trees, glad for the warmth on his fingers (for he had forgotten his mittens before storming out into the snow after the disastrous episode at breakfast), but he could not find any other birds, and when he looked up into the branches to see if there might be any nests, he saw nothing but leaden sky between the long-limbed, lifeless trees.

He looked down at the baby bird again, not wishing to separate it from its family and not wishing to release it quite yet, either. But there was truly nothing else nearby, and it seemed to need his help.

Better still, the strange bird had seemingly taken a liking to Albus, for it was cuddling against him and cooing more softly now, almost purring. He was confused, but at the same time enjoying the way the warmth was spreading from his torso to his feet, as though it were _inside_ him, instead of just in his palms.

It was a really wonderful sort of feeling. Like magic. It even seemed to erase the bad moments he'd already had that morning.

And without quite realizing it, he discovered he was walking back to the castle, the baby bird safe in his hands.

**oOoOoOo**

For whatever reason, though he couldn't explain why, Albus told no one of the little bird. He kept it in his dormitory, inside his four-poster with the curtains drawn, and fed it scraps from meals. By the end of the week, it looked stronger and healthier, and he could see downy feathers beginning to grow, which made him feel much better. He was also able to convince his cousin, Victoire, to transform a mousetrap that was tucked away in a corner of Gryffindor tower into a small birdcage, pretending that he wanted to see her top-notch skills at Transfiguration, but as soon as her back was turned he raced upstairs and quickly transferred his new pet into it.

He would need to come up with a name soon, though. He hadn't thought of one yet, because he wasn't sure what _to_ name it, and he didn't want any suggestions. He wanted to think of something brilliant, all on his own. Perhaps at Christmas, he would be able to research names in some of his dad's history books, and find one he liked.

The trouble was, he had no idea how to _get_ the bird home without Rose or James or anyone else seeing it. After all of his dorm mates had gone downstairs for breakfast on the day they were scheduled to leave for the holidays, he pondered ways of smuggling the bird onto the Hogwarts Express, but with little success. Rose and James were both far too observant, and even his older cousins would see him carrying a birdcage and question what was going on, because everyone knew he didn't have an owl. James would tease him incessantly, and insist the bird didn't really belong to him, and he didn't think he could bear the teasing today.

Because Albus knew better. He knew the bird belonged to him. Or rather, perhaps he belonged to the bird? He wasn't sure which, for the bird seemed to know everything about him. It was all very strange, but very wonderful.

And, in the end, he ended up calling Kreacher for help, because he knew Kreacher would come. All he had to do was whisper the house elf's name, after all. And somehow, though he was hundreds of miles away in London, the old elf appeared immediately at Albus's side with a _crack_ , looking quite happy to be needed.

"Young master called Kreacher?" he croaked, beaming up at the middle Potter child.

"Yes," Albus said quickly, kneeling to talk to the family servant. "Can you do me a favor, Kreacher?"

"Kreacher lives to serve his masters."

"Yes, well... Er... Can you take this little bird back to Grimmauld Place?" Albus took the cage off his bed. "Can you put it in my bedroom and make sure it's safe until I get home this afternoon? And make _certain_ Mum and Dad don't find out? Or anyone else?"

"As young master wishes," Kreacher said. "Kreacher will keep the bird safe and not tell master or mistress until young Master says he can."

Albus sighed with relief. "Thanks, Kreacher. I'll be home in a few hours. Do you need anything?"

The ancient house elf smiled toothlessly. "Young master always asks Kreacher if he needs anything. But Kreacher needs nothing except his masters and mistresses."

And with another _crack_ , he vanished - along with the strange little bird.

**oOoOoOo**

But Albus should have known it wouldn't have been nearly as easy as he thought. Because whenever something seems easy, it rarely is.

The ride on the Hogwarts Express had been cheerful enough (James had remained three carriages down, with a group of his friends, thank Merlin), and the ride back to Grimmauld Place had been cheerful enough (James couldn't tease Albus with his parents in the front seat, or else Mum would have hexed him as likely as not).

However, when they arrived home, and everyone was taking off scarves and mittens in the entrance hall, Dad turned to him and said quietly, "Al? Why don't you come with me to my study for a few moments before dinner."

Confused, and wanting more to check on his bird than accompany his father right at that moment, Albus reluctantly followed Dad up the creaking stairs and down the first floor hall, while James and Lily traipsed after their Mum to the basement kitchen to help set the table. What could his father want with him, he wondered? Surely he hadn't done anything to get into trouble.

His father's study was as warm and cozy as it always was, with a bright fire in the hearth and a tin of Mum's cookies on the desk, and a glass jar full of Every Flavor Beans beside that. In one corner was a model of the solar system contained within a crystal sphere (Al loved staring at it whenever he had the chance), and there were shelves full of books on Defensive magic and odd Charms.

But when Dad sat on the edge of his desk and gestured to one of the comfortable leather chairs before it, Albus wondered again if he'd done something drastically wrong. Slowly, and with a sense of dread, he lowered himself into the chair.

Dad's brow was furrowed, as though deep in thought, and after a few, agonizing seconds, he said, "Al, I'm afraid I need your help with something."

"M-My help? But... James is older -"

Dad smiled. "Oh, James couldn't possibly help me with this problem, Al. But I think you can."

Still confused, Albus nodded obediently. Apparently, he wasn't in trouble after all. That was good. Maybe this wouldn't take long, and he could check on the bird before dinner.

"You see, Al, this morning, around eight o'clock, your mother and I were in the kitchen. I was going over some paperwork for the office, and your mother was cooking fudge. Kreacher was just about to pour me another cup of coffee when the strangest thing happened."

Instantly, Albus's heart sank to his stomach with a wave of dread. Or, maybe he _was_ in trouble.

"Kreacher stopped, just as he was about to pour my coffee. He looked highly surprised, put the coffee pot down, and informed me he would be back in a moment. And just like that, he vanished."

"D-did he?"

"He did. Needless to say, your Mum and I were rather confused by this. But not five minutes later, he reappeared."

"Oh! Well, that's good. Isn't it?" Albus asked, trying desperately to keep his voice from shaking.

Dad chuckled. "Yes, it's good he returned - Merlin knows how old he _really_ is, and if he mightn't die any day now! But the strangest thing was, when he returned, he refused to tell us where he'd been, or why he'd gone. Now. I know for a fact that James and Kreacher aren't on what one would call the best of terms..."

Albus forced a small smile. It was a well-known fact to the Potters, and all of the Weasleys, that James and Kreacher were involved in an all-out prank war. James had started it (naturally), and Kreacher was more than willing to battle it out (everyone had a sneaking suspicion that Mum had willingly and explicitly given Kreacher permission to do so). It was James's turn again; the last round had involved James conjuring a sweet-smelling, pink-colored mist in Kreacher's den (which the elf had positively loathed), followed by Kreacher taking several balls of yarn from Mum's knitting basket and tangling them all around James's bedroom late one night, so he couldn't possibly get back out, once he woke up the next morning, without tripping and getting knotted up and screaming for help.

Dad went on, "But, we all know that the only reason Kreacher would have vanished like that would have been because _someone_ called him. And the only people who could have called Kreacher and received an answer are those he serves. Lily swears she didn't call him, and I know James avoids calling him in case Kreacher pulls a prank on him. Kreacher told me years ago that he would never serve the Malfoy family again, which leaves you, Al. So...? Did you call Kreacher to you this morning?"

Albus sighed, looked miserably at his hands, and mumbled, "Yes, I did."

"Al! I'm not angry with you," Dad said gently, sliding off the desk to kneel in front of him. "I promise I'm not. But can you tell me why you needed Kreacher at Hogwarts? Did something happen? Were you in trouble?"

Albus fidgeted and sighed. Eventually, he would have to tell someone about the bird, and he didn't want his father believing he had got into trouble. Looking up nervously, he whispered, "Will you _promise_ not to tell James just yet?"

"Oh, _Merlin_." Dad groaned and buried his face in his hand. "Please don't tell me you called Kreacher to pull a prank on James. I'd _never_ be able to explain that one to your mother!"

"No," Albus said quickly. "No, it's not for that. It's just... well... James has been rather horrible the past couple of weeks." He looked back at his hands. "Teasing me, and breaking the cookies mum sent... I was really angry at him that morning, so I went for a walk after breakfast to get away from him, and I ended up..." He flushed suddenly when he remembered where he had been. "Will you _promise_ not to be angry?" he asked anxiously.

"At this point, I'm not sure what I should or shouldn't be promising," Dad joked rather dryly.

But his smile was encouraging, so Albus plunged on, "I ended up in the Forbidden Forest."

There was a pause, but after a moment, Dad merely said, "Very well. You didn't get in trouble in there, and call Kreacher to get you out, did you?"

"Oh no, I didn't go very far in. But I... I heard something." Albus glanced nervously at the door before looking back up at his father. Tentatively, he whispered, "Kreacher?"

Immediately, as if he had been expecting to be called, there was a _crack_ , and the elf appeared in the study. He looked eagerly between father and son. "Did young master need Kreacher again?" he asked.

"Yes," Albus said quickly. "Will you please go to my room and bring me what I asked you to hide there this morning?"

Kreacher seemed to brighten. "Yes, young master. And Kreacher thinks young master will be very pleased with the progress it has made, too!" There was another _crack_ and the elf vanished; a few moments later, he reappeared, holding the cage Victoire had created, and stepped forward to hand it to Albus.

Albus cried out happily and slid out of his chair to his knees on the thick rug. The ugly bird was _different_ now - the wrinkled skin and downy feathers were turning to beautiful shades of red and gold, and it looked a bit older!

But, to his further surprise, Dad shifted to sit cross-legged beside him, with a most peculiar expression. He gently unlatched the cage, and to Albus's shock, the little bird fluttered out upon his father's knee and looked up at him, cooing softly.

"Wow! It's as if he knows you, Dad!"

"That's because he does," Dad whispered. And he stroked the bird's head and smiled softly. "Though I never thought I'd see you again, Fawkes."

The bird practically purred as it nudged its head into Harry Potter's hand.

"Fawkes?" Albus stammered, utterly stunned by what was happening. The bird already had a name...and his father knew it? Because his father knew this bird? But how could his father know the bird? It was just a baby!

"Yes, Al," Dad explained. "This bird is a phoenix, and a particular one, too. He goes by the name of Fawkes. Years and years ago, he belonged to a very powerful, kind wizard. A wizard named Albus Dumbledore."

For a long moment, Al stared at his father. Then he finally whispered, "He looked so cold and lonely when I found him. Like... like he needed a home. It was freezing out, Dad."

"Well, I hate to say it, but you didn't _find_ him." His father handed the bird to Al with what seemed infinite care; it instantly filled his hands with burning, wonderful warmth. "Fawkes found _you_."

"He... he did?"

"He did indeed."

The study door suddenly opened, and Al turned quickly to see who was entering. He was very glad when his mother stepped inside, and not James or Lily, but she looked confused to see her husband and middle son on the floor with a phoenix, and their house elf watching curiously.

"Harry!" she gasped, recognition dawning on her face. "Is that... _Fawkes_?"

" _You_ know Fawkes _too_?" Albus spluttered.

At this, the surprise on his mother's face disappeared, and she laughed softly. "Of _course_ I know Fawkes! Not as well as your father, but I still know him." She knelt beside them and stroked Fawkes's head; the bird eagerly rubbed against her fingers. "The last time Fawkes was heard was the night Professor Dumbledore died. He sang the most beautiful song as he left Hogwarts, but I always thought he had left for good."

"So did I," her husband agreed. "I suppose though, he must always find an owner when one needs him."

Albus grinned brightly. "And he found _me_ , Mum! That's what Dad said! I can keep him, can't I?" He suddenly looked back and forth between his parents, a momentary fear striking him. Perhaps he wouldn't be allowed to keep the phoenix. It wasn't an owl, after all.

His mother burst into beautiful laughter. "As if we could _stop_ you from keeping him!"

"Or Fawkes!" His father added, chuckling. "I'm afraid Fawkes will be with you for the rest of your life, Al. If he's picked you, he'll always be with you. Phoenixes grow old and burst into flame when they die, and then they are reborn from ashes, and if he isn't old or a newborn, he has the most amazing magical powers. He can send letters, transport you places... His tears will heal even the most destructive magical wounds, and if you are sad, he will sing a song that will never leave your heart."

"He... he can do all of that?" Al asked, his voice hushed.

"And much more," his mother said gently, raking his tousled hair back with her fingers. "He's _very_ special. Just like you."

"Wow... He's much better than an owl then, isn't he?"

"Much," his parents agreed together, smiling at each other.

"Should I keep him in a cage?"

"No, I don't think so." His mother picked up the golden cage. "Fawkes could escape from it if he really wanted to, after all. I think he needs a perch, don't you, Harry?"

Albus's father nodded, drew his wand, and waved it at the cage. Instantly, it transformed into a handsome, wooden perch. "That will do until I can take you to Diagon Alley and purchase a nicer one."

And then, a most unwelcome voice said brightly, "Diagon Alley? I want to go to Diagon Alley! When are we going? Tomorrow?"

"Can I go, too? I still have Christmas presents to buy!"

"And me!"

Albus glanced behind him at the door. His brother and sister were in the hall, peering in eagerly. But when they saw the phoenix, they both looked surprised and fell silent for a few seconds.

"What is that?" James asked, frowning at the bird.

Their father said sternly, "This is a phoenix, named Fawkes. He belongs to your brother, and I would advise you not to bother him, James. He is exceptionally intelligent."

"Al gets a phoenix?" James looked crestfallen and stunned at the same time. "But... you can't even buy a phoenix in Diagon Alley!"

"It isn't quite what you think, James," his dad said quickly, to avoid the potential argument. "Fawkes chose Albus, not the other way around. No one bought him. You see, Fawkes is very special - he lives his own life, and picks his owners. And he picked Albus to be his next owner."

"Wow," Lily breathed. "That's so cool!"

"Isn't it?" Al asked her happily.

"And besides, James," Mum said. "You do have an owl." With that, she smiled and got to her feet. "Why don't we take Fawkes downstairs and see if we can't find a chicken leg for him to gnaw on? I'm sure he's hungry."

And, beaming, Al followed her downstairs, holding Fawkes against his chest, while his father called James into the study (presumably to discuss his behavior towards Al) and asked Lily to accompany her mother and middle brother to the kitchen again.

It didn't matter if James got in trouble or not, though. Not anymore. Because Al finally had his own pet - and it had chosen _him_.

**~FIN~**


End file.
